


What It Takes

by Red_and_R3d



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Character Death Fix, F/M, Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Nudity, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Possible smut, References/Inspiration taken from deleted scenes, Starts before Avengers AOU plot, Will continue after the end of Avengers AOU plot, backstory altered (clint), backstory altered/added (Pietro), minor alcohol related stuff, slight mentions of homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_and_R3d/pseuds/Red_and_R3d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that when you are with your soulmate, you will start to age.</p><p>Laura has been aging.</p><p>So why haven't you?</p><p>(Inspired by a tumblr post [link tba])</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homesick

**Author's Note:**

> _I never asked and I’ll never know_  
>  _What it takes to make the most of all my faults_  
>  _Would you still love me if I go?_  
>  music: [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1yIyLHoAnsU)

 

 

Laura was aging.

 

You were not.

 

Barney was aging.

 

You were not.

 

Laura has always been with you. She had known you and your brother Barney since you could barely talk and as kids she was always the one you could spill your secrets to. As the years went by Laura became stuck to you and your brother like glue, becoming almost like family. When your teenage years hit, you fell hard for your childhood friend, and once you shared your first kiss on that summer moonlit night, the look she gave you with those star-shining eyes showed you that she fell just the same. Ever since then you had thought she was the one, someone special that you could have a chance to share your life and settle down with, even despite your tolling profession. She was the one that would love you until death do you part. The one you could grow old with. Your one, and only, _soulmate._

  
Or at least...that’s what you thought.

  
They say that when you find your soulmate, you will start to age. Not as though people do not age without them. If that was the case then everybody would be running around looking like Cap and the world would be so jam-packed with people we would all probably die out from starvation or some other terrible disaster. What happens is once you do find your soulmate you start to age _normally._ Without them you begin to age much slower. People who are in their early thirties still look like they still need to be carded. Seventy year olds are walking around looking as though like they just hit 50. With each year, you continue to age slower.

It does not appear to be bad at first. However, it will start to bother you when you begin to realize how many people you know seem to have already found “the one”. It will start to itch at your mind when your friends and family reminisce about the “good ol days” and saying things like

 

“remember back then when I could…”

  
“too bad I can’t do that now, my back would give out!”

  
"Haha, good times."

  
Meanwhile you feel just fine, having yet to experience any “old aches and pains”.

 

It will start to hurt when they look through all the dusty albums of worn-out Polaroids taken decades ago, pointing out how “you haven’t changed a bit”.

It will haunt you when you begin to grasp that so many of your loved ones are going to die much sooner than you. They will be gone, having lived fulfilling lives with the one they are destined to love, while you will still be here, living a life in slow motion.

You have always felt for those people. Never being able to find their perfect match, or worse. Ya you heard the stories: Living with someone you thought was your soulmate, only to realize after decades of being together neither one of them is aging; or to loose your soulmate too soon, only to revert to aging slower, agonizingly waiting to reunite with your beloved in the great beyond. It is no easy feat to find your soulmate, much less keep them. However, You and Laura's love has always been so perfectly keen that you have no doubt she is you soulmate. Yes you dated other girls, and a few guys too, just to be safe. However not a single one of them gave you that sense of completeness like Laura did. Not even Nat, your most closest friend and at one time a little bit more. No, nothing could beat the compatibility between you two.

 

  
However…

 

  
You have been starting to wonder why Laura’s hair is showing signs of gray while yours remains perfectly blonde; Why she is starting to complain about the joints in her wrists while you can still comfortably fight alongside people who are barely fit to be counted as “human”. Yes your work has made you weary, tired, and stressed, putting some age to your face. Yet as your age is creeping closer to that mid-life-crisis checkpoint, your body is still in the same exact condition as it was in your mid 20s.

You blame your years of training and fighting for focusing on all these small but growing details, letting them weigh on your mind for more than just a while in your time away from Laura and the kids. However at the end of your analysis you always conclude that you are fussing over nothing. You are merely over-analyzing traits that can stem from a number of things. There are a variety of plausible and logical excuses that you repeat to yourself now and then.

 

_‘The kids can definitely be a handful, and it always seems kids bring out the gray hairs faster than anything’_

 

_‘She has to take care of the farm without me most of the time. Heck my wrists would hurt too if I had to wrangle both the kids and the cattle everyday. Thank god Barney lives close enough to help her.’_

 

_‘She’s pregnant for God’s sake. Of course she’s gonna have aches and pains.’_

 

The more reasons you conclude, the more you think about Laura. The more you think about Laura, the more you miss her. How very much you would like to be at the farmhouse right now, holding her. How you would love to be spending time with your kids right now or laughing with your brother on the front porch before loading up some more hay for the cows. You miss the humid warmth of the air. You miss the fireflies and the sunset over the trees. You miss the brightness of the stars in the unshaken night sky.

 

  
You think its about time you take a surprise trip back home.

 

* * *

 

  
You drive down the empty road in your old beat-up pickup truck, dim headlights guiding you as the sun falls behind the orange red horizon, alluding to the stars you know so well. With each white stripe on the asphalt your mind flashes through all the memories you have of Laura and the kids. They are few and far between you admit, however you cherish those moments more than a thief cherishes gold. Their laughter, their smiles; all the little pictures the kids drew for you. How Laura teases when you have jet-lag and are up in the middle of the night. How she'll sit with you and ask about Natasha and Fury while sharing a pack of Oreo's and a glass of milk. She never drinks it, but always dips. Its just another one of the little quirks that made you fall in love with her in the first place.

As you turn left and the asphalt fades to tracks of dirt, you chastise yourself, wondering why you ever doubted Laura in the first place. Ashamed, you shake your head and shoulders a bit, brushing off all your over-analyzing and second-guessing, replacing it with the image of everyone’s delighted expressions when you sneak up on them, surprising them with a quick trip home between missions.

You reach the farmhouse just before nightfall, which fits perfectly with your plan. Laura is probably cooking supper right now which means you can surprise her first. A crooked smile creeps upon your face as you hop up the steps of the porch, carefully shifting your key into the door. You open the door just barely, allowing you to slip through along with your dufflebag before discreetly closing it back. Slinging your dufflebag over your shoulder you straighten your back and make your way towards the kitchen. You try to pace yourself, however as your chest starts to race, your smile grows and you cannot help but bite your lip and let your feet move a little faster. Once you reach the entrance to the kitchen, you carefully set your dufflebag onto the floor and press your body against the wall. Covertly, you peek your head over the corner in anticipation of finding the perfect moment to sneak up on Laura while her back is turned, and kiss her in all the ways you imagined on your way home.  
You hear muffled Laughter that sounds like your wife, so stretch your head a little further, giving you a clearer glimpse of the kitchen. Immediately you spot Laura in front of a simmering pot on the stove, letting her laughter grow louder as she shifts to her right. She caresses her fingers over two broad flannel-covered shoulders and tilts her head as two arms gently weave themselves around her waist. Her eyes sparkle as she smiles brightly before letting her glossed lips press against a pair of thinner ones.

 

Everything in your body freezes as you watch Laura passionately and deeply kiss your older brother.

 

You push yourself to move your tense body away from the scene. Just as fast as you slid through the door, you slide back out, racing down the porch and onto the gravel driveway. As you reach your pick-up you pause for a moment. You exhale a slow, deep breath and calmly take your hand off the door handle. You pull your dufflebag into your arms, holding it up with your right hand. With your left you unzip the zipper and fish through it, pulling out a tiny bouquet of Marigolds and Forget-Me-Nots. Listlessly you toss your dufflebag into the truck bed and gaze down at the bouquet.

 

Your brow furrows as your mind replays the first time you brought her flowers. You had pulled the Marigolds out of her neighbor's garden when you realized you forgot to bring her something for your first date. Not long after when you were leaving for your first mission, she gave you a stem of forget-me-nots and a hug that lasted both too long and yet not long enough. You swallow hard, tossing the bouquet to the ground. You yank the truck door open and seat yourself, slamming the door closed behind you. You turn on the engine and sharply pull your car out onto the dirt road. You drive off into the darkness of the night, speeding until the silhouette of the farmhouse is no longer seen in your rear view mirror. Not sure where you are going, still you keep driving. Your mind begins to run a mile a minute, contemplating all the things that had led to this moment, all the signs, all the warnings. With each thought you are also reminded of Laura's smile, her warmth, her love. You fight with yourself, resisting the temptation of stomping on the gas pedal and recklessly driving to nowhere, and desperately wanting to pull over and throw up, as if that this is all some poison that will go away once its out of your system. 

 

 

 

Either way the thought of returning home now makes you feel nothing but sick.


	2. Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>    
>  _The last person in the room she hugged_  
>  _Was the person that she loved the most_  
>  _Nobody noticed that I was down on the rug_  
>  _I'm getting better at becoming a ghost_
> 
> music: [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hD0-_uUpboA)

 

 

 

It weighs on you.

 

 

No matter how much you try to clear your head, the visage of Barney and Laura kissing strikes your mind. Strikes it like a rock against a bleeding skull. However, the battlefield is no place for love, and as Natasha drives wildly while the rest of the team smashes every enemy keeping you from Struker's hideout, you try to focus in on keeping up with the pace. However the whisping sound of each arrow is like a calling card to that kiss. The more arrows you shoot, the more your mind runs, and unfortunately your imagination likes to run with it. Questions that you have been trying to push to the back of your brain start to build up in your head, screaming louder for your attention and piercing you like the tip of your arrowheads spiraling through the chest of their next misfortunate target.

 

_How dare he kiss my wife like that.  Some fucking brother I tell ya..._

_How long has this been going on for anyways?_

_Dammit, were they ever going to let me know or just leave me in the dark for the rest of my life?!_

_Like hell!! I shouldn't have to be told!! I'm a fucking agent for God's sakes, I should've sniffed this crap out the minute it started!!_

 

You start shooting your arrows a little faster, keeping your bow clenched in a tighter fist. Somehow the jerks of Nat's sharp turns are becoming less of a concern as you prioritize your hit count. For some reason you are itching to shoot as many of these annoying bastards as possible. However you are finding it a bit tricky to bullseye these goons while your thoughts keep trailing back to the way your brother's hands were caressing the curve of her spine, as he embraced her.

 

You would rather not guess where else those hands have been.

 

As you skyrocket into the air from the thrust of the jeep, you decide to do the most logical thing; you channel all those unnecessary thoughts and responding emotions into a dead ringing kill shot on the poor sucker who thought charging at you was a good idea. The blast takes out his fellow cronies who were dumb enough to tag along.

 

Man, detonating arrows, where would you ever be without them.

 

You barrel roll out into the snow, using the trees as cover as you attempt to get closer to one of the bunkers, dodging the explosions caused by Tony as he streamlines above, heading to the main facility of struker's base. A couple of enemies try to get the jump on you, shooting between the trees with bulkier hydra weapons. You love how much slower it makes them. Taking advantage, you loop between two entwined trees and take aim. Three arrows is all it takes to bring all the heavy hitters to the ground. However, though you are easily on a roll with your shooting today, you know damn well that the fight is just getting started. Your target is one of the Hydra bunkers, and the turrets that guard them definitely pack a punch. Normally you would find it a little tedious  to take on a bunch of enemies defended by cement protected turrets; but with the way you are feeling right now, you finally feel like the world is giving you a nice way to work off that excess stress. Static reigns in on the intercom system followed by a " _SHIT_ " from Tony.

 

"Language!" Cap scolds. You know for a fact that everyone on the team is now thinking of ways to use that against him. You make a mental note to think up some good ideas as well when you are done with the fight.

 

 You listen in on Jarvis' explanation of the fortress barrier as you side step and shoulder roll away from some Hydra beams fired from 2 o' clock on your right. You swiftly strike the ground with your right foot, pushing yourself onto your left leg, shifting you into an upright position so you can immediately shoot down your opponents. 

 

"Loki's scepter must be here," Thor affirms over the intercom, "Struker could not mass this defense without it."

 

"At long last..." Thor mumbles as you sprint towards another pair of trees, taking out three more Hydra agents on the way. As a rectangular shape starts to form in the distance you can tell you are getting closer to one of the bunkers. Three more Hydra beams head for 6' o clock on your back. You utilize the slope from the hill to slide away from the oncoming attack. You reciprocate it with a detonating arrow that hits one of the agents right in the head, while the other two are knocked out by the force of the blow. You continue sliding down the hill a bit, building some momentum  before grabbing a low hanging branch to pull yourself up and veer around the trunk; providing an excellent view of the bunker between the two smaller trees in front of you.

 

"At long last is lasting a little long boys." Nat comments before ringing the intercoms system with a couple rounds of gun fire. You try to take aim at the enemies surrounding the bunker; however they strike first, giving you barely enough time to evade it behind one of the trees.

 

"I think we lost the element of surprise." You chime in. At the rate things have been going though you doubt the "sneak attack" aspect was ever really an option.

 

"Wait a second," Tony interrupts, "is no one going to deal with the fact that Cap said 'language'?"

 

Cap responds exasperated, “I know...It just slipped out..."

 

Shots start being fired rapidly, giving you little time to find cover, and even less to pay attention to the rest of your team's banter. You try to focus more on the task at hand. Some rapid firing and maneuvering of your own gets you out of the harsher spots and into more quiet, less protected territory.  Using the trees as your cover, you covertly shift and weave between them, heading west until you finally see your prime target: the entrance to the bunker. With the battering sound of bombs and gunfire now faintly in the distance you take advantage of the silence, leaning over the side of a tree as you aim your bow. Once you release the arrow you immediately return to your resting position behind the tree, waiting for it to detonate on impact. Yet as the seconds pass by, no explosion is heard.

 

 Something is wrong.

 

You swiftly take action, reloading your bow and firing in one smooth step.  Yet in the seconds before your arrow even leaves your fingertips you feel something slam into you, and before you know it you are up in the air and slamming back down on your side. As you push yourself back up you hear footsteps pacing next to you. Sharply, you tilt your head upwards and find yourself staring into a pair of mischievously narrowed blue eyes.

 

Fair white skin and platinum dyed hair make him practically blend in with the snow, apart from the unbleached roots of his wavy dark brown hair. The dark thin tracings of his facial hair define his sharp and slender jaw, while his blue tracksuit is tight enough to accentuate his broad shoulders and muscular torso. His brow is furrowed as he smirks down at you, mockingly.

 

"You didn't see that coming?"

 

He taunts you. His voice soft, yet words sharpened with the weight of his heavy Eastern European accent. He cocks an eyebrow before whisking away in a blur of silver and blue. You bolt upward and attempt to shoot him down before he gets away, however he's gone before you can even get a good aim on him.

 

It infuriates you.

 

His words sting with every accented syllable, regardless of how much he meant them to or not. Despite trying so hard to ignore all of what you had been feeling since the minute you left the farmhouse, his words bring everything back to the surface. All the images that have been etched into your brain once again start looping like a video reel as your train of thought runs wild.

 

_Did Barney's wife ever know about this??_

_What if that's why she left him._

_It all makes sense now, why he'd be aging when he hasn't even been on a date in seven years._

_Could it really have been going on for so long??_

You retract the arrow, slowly bringing it closer as your breath become ragged.

_Is this why she spends so much time with Barney, even when I'm there?_

_Why didn't Laura tell me._

_Was it something I did?_

_Is she just doing it for the kids?_

_I thought we could share anything with each other, good or bad._

 

You bring your bow to your side, staring off into the path of snow formed by the young man in blue. Your brow furrows as you feel your heart sink into the depths of your chest.

 

 

_...I thought she loved me..._

 

 

You hear the sound of a Hydra weapon and instantly take a direct hit from the beam. It’s excruciating; akin to a fire eating away at you, with the impact alone enough to propel you onto your back and into the ice and snow covered ground.

 

" _Clint!_ "  Natasha calls on the intercom.

 

"We have an enhanced in the field." Cap warns. You take it he must have just met speedy. You grit your teeth as you endure the pain.

 

" _Clinton!_ "  You hear the double echo of Natasha's voice from both the intercom and in the area, growing with the sound of fast footsteps in the slush. You feel someone slide up against you, recognizing it as Nat as she hastily evaluates your condition.

 

"Somebody want to deal with that bunker?" You hear the tremor in her voice as she acts fast. You are finding it difficult to pace your breathing, eyes becoming darker as you start to lose consciousness. You groan as you feel Nat put something on your wound and shift your neck in order to take your pulse. You try to maintain your consciousness, pushing yourself to focus in on the voices of your teammates as they continue to advance. It takes a moment as your attention wavers. You think you heard Stark say he made it through the shield, while Thor asks something about the enhanced.

 

"Clint's hit pretty bad guys," Nat interrupts, "We're gonna need  e-vac."

 

You fade out a bit, before hearing the echo of a loud clang in the distance.

 

"Find the Scepter!" Thor directs.

 

"And for gosh's sake, watch your language!" adds Tony.

 

"That's not going away anytime soon..." Cap mumbles.

 

 You clamp your jaw tight, as your body tenses even more. However it's not just the damage that is inflicting it.

 

You cannot believe you acted so carelessly on the battlefield. It was something you could have easily dodged if you were paying attention. But no, instead you let your mind get run over by your marital anxieties and that damn enhanced. Over 25 years of on the field experience and training, being one of the top agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, taking on everything from the Russian mafia to aliens, and yet do the one thing that you are never supposed to do while on the job: you took your mind off of the mission. Having your mind on anything other than the mission, while _on_ the mission is one of the most stupid and deadliest things you could ever do. Its losing your focus that put people in danger. It can make you act on impulse, and react to things without putting real logic behind it. It’s a rookie mistake, and you have no excuse for it. If the shot had hit you just a few inches higher you would be dead on the spot.

 

What is worse is even now as you lie in agony on the ground, you keep thinking about it. About her. Thoughts keep shuffling in about all the times you spent with Laura. Everything you had with her. How you were going to raise the kids with her. Retire one day and run the farm full time with her.  Grow old with her. Die with her.

 

 Black creeps over the edges of your eyes, slowly consuming your sight while your thoughts keep consuming your being. It becomes difficult to examine your surroundings, leaving you unsure as to what is going on. Suddenly you feel someone lift you up and your face is stinging from the icy wind speeding by. With your vision blurring, you can barely make out the aircraft carrier as you are being hauled in.  You let a groan slip from your pain as needles are hooked into you as you are laid on the stretcher to rest.  You hope it’s the morphine not blood loss that starts causing you to become drowsy.  Soon after, Cap comes to your side. He offers his hand and you clasp it, showing that despite the wound you are still fine. Though with the way you catch Nat glancing at you, she would probably disagree. You start to lose out to the morphine and close your eyes again, taking advantage of the growing silence both in and around you.

 

As your mind becomes quiet and your concentration starts to weaken, you are left with just a feint lingering voice in the back of your head. However, the voice becomes clearer, and it starts to bother you. There is something different about it. Something off.

 

It's soft, speaking in a whisper. Quiet, yet elusive, like the hiss of a snake. It's noted with an accent. However it's not like the enhance's. It's something else. Maybe more like Thor's.  You can almost hear a smile behind the words. For some reason it sends a chill down your spine.

 

 

 

 

You fall asleep before you can decipher its words.


	3. Anesthesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _You had one thing that no one could ever be sure of_  
>  _Never ever had a pure love_  
>  _And never no cure from_  
>  music: [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygdVEIrVnIk)
> 
>  

 

 

 

You open your eyes, slowly, taking a moment to blink away your blurred vision; squinting in order to adjust to the overwhelming brightness of the light. You shift a little and your body stings all over. You groan and try to move, yet two hands press down firmly on your shoulders, keeping you stationary. Your face is suddenly overshadowed by a stream of vibrant copper curls reigning down from above. You blink a few more times, cringing your brow as you try to focus. Your sight captures a fair skinned face accentuated by two shapely furrowed eyebrows, a pair of soft, plush lips, and irises akin to the sunlight that shines down from the canopies of the rainforest; sharp, invasive, and exceptionally green.

 

 

"Ne...Natasha?" Your voice sounds a bit rustier than you remember.

 

"Stay still." She directs, quiet and tense.

 

 

Instinctively, you bring your right hand across your chest and to your left shoulder, grasping her hand softly in yours. Your voice is still coarse and weary as you push to ask what is going on.

 

 

"Helen's here," She responds. Her eyes keep darting her eyes between your face and your torso, "She's working on healing your wounds. The blast incinerated portions of your muscles that can't be easily repaired, so she's trying to rebuild them."

 

"Well I guess that explains the mildly painful-tingling sensation," you remark. You see this earns you a soft smile from Nat's lips.

 

"I've already administered the required anesthetics," Helen informs, shifting your attention to your right to find her in the midst of writing something down on her clipboard, "So far it has numbed most of the affected area, however..." She taps her pen against the board, " it seems that you have an unusually high tolerance for the narcotics I provided with the carrier's medical supplies." She bites her lip while her thin black brows give the slightest twitch. "It was to _supposed_ to maintain your unconscious state for at least 36 hours..."

 

 

She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head a bit as she shrugs.

 

 

"Honestly though I shouldn't be surprised that even _you_ could regain consciousness in less than a third of of that time, Agent Barton."

 

Ouch, burn.

 

"I'm sure Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker has something to do with that," You joke.

 

Nat's smile grows as she rolls her eyes. Meanwhile Helen cocks an eyebrow, seemingly unamused.

 

"Ah looks like Katniss is finally awake!"

 

 

You tilt your head to the left and bear witness to Stark as he struts nonchalantly into the room. The way the sunlight illuminates from the windows provides him with an unnecessarily benevolent glow; almost angelic. You find it ridiculous, ironic, and a little humorous. Maybe hilarious. Then again that could just be because of the drugs you are on.

 

 

"Good to see you made it through the Hunger Games," he continues as he steps closer, putting his hands in his pockets, "Can I get you anything: snacks, drinks-a less intimidating chaperon?" He takes his right hand out and points to Nat with his thumb, who is glowering at him with her classic stone-cold stare.

 

"I wouldn't mind a drink," you reply.

 

"Whiskey it is then, got it!" Tony confirms, pointing at you before back-stepping towards the door.

 

"Wait, make it tequila." You correct, stretching your left arm out towards him until you feel a sharp stinging in your torso, leaving you to rest your left hand beside your head.

 

"No, no alcohol." Nat asserts over you; her voice stopping Tony in his tracks, "Barton is still under the influence of a number of anesthetics."

 

"Indeed," Helen adds as she walks around you. You watch her as she moves down past your feet and notice some rotating robotic device projecting lasers onto your abdomen. "If there is anything Barton should be drinking right now it should at least contain substances that will help rebuild his cells, not kill them."

 

 

You are distracted by the bounce of Nat's hair as she shifts her head to smile sharply at Tony.

 

 

"Why don't you make him one of those nice green drinks you're addicted to?" She suggests.

 

 

She gazes down toward you with a smirk and you get the hint.

 

 

"Yeah Tony that sounds good," you chime in, "In fact Nat and Helen have been taking such good care of me I'm sure they wouldn't mind a refresher too. How bout you bring some of those smoothies for rest of the crew."

 

"Oh that's a good idea Barton," Nat agrees, her voice almost playful , "Yes Tony I would love a drink thank you."

 

"No coconut water in mine." Helen requests, too busy jotting notes on her clipboard to look at Tony, "Substitute it for peach nectar instead."

 

"Didn't know I was the butler _and_ the chef," Tony comments as he cocks his eyebrows, stepping back towards the door. He halts at the exit and turns towards everyone as he continues his complaining with a shrug.

 

"Oh and don't worry, you can all thank me later for your health coverage too. Doubt Obamacare has a synthetic tissue rendering--or a cellular regeneration co-pay--but hey you know, not important; you can just show your undying love and gratitude for me you're all not trying to revive Robin Hood over here."

 

"You know, if I don't die of thirst in the process." You note wearily, grinning loosely at Tony.

 

"Careful what you say Barton," he points at you just as he exits through the doorway,"that phrase could be taken very differently on the internet."

 

 

A quiet hum feels the room from Helen's machine before you feel Nat shimmy her shoulders a bit, leaning down to catch your attention with a whisper.

 

 

"You know he's been pacing around this lab ever since we got back. Kept coming in to check on you every five minutes to see if you woke up yet."

 

"He's such a softie." You chuckle, wincing a little at the discomfort it brings. Natasha slowly releases your shoulders, gliding smoothly to your left to observe Helen's tech up close.

 

You notice Bruce walk in and he gives you a nod before joining Nat in analyzing the equipment. Unlike Natasha's suspicious expression, lightly unveiling her skepticism toward the machine, Bruce looks like a kid in a nerd-centric candy store, completely and delightedly immersed in observing every inch of this robotic contraption Helen's got you hooked up too.

 

"You sure he's gonna be ok?" Nat asks as she leans in close to the lasers, flashing a glance at Helen before straightening herself up and crossing her arms.

 

"Pretending to need this guy really brings the team together." She gives you a soft smile. However the sharpness in her eyes alludes to her concern. You wish you could more to ease her nerves, however in this condition the most you can really do is smile back.

 

"There's no possibility of deterioration." Helen confidently explains as she bends over the device to reprogram the lasers, "The nano-molecular functionality is instantaneous. His cells don't know they're bonding with simulacrum."

 

"She is _creating_ tissue." Bruce exemplifies, a little too excitedly. You witness him flash his dorky smile at Nat, while she fights the way her lips curve upwards, forcing a straight face as she aims her gaze towards the floor. Oh boy. Gonna have to have a talk with her about _that_ later.

 

"If you brought him to my lab the regeneration cradle could do this in twenty minutes" Helen adds.

 

"Oh he's flat-lining. Call it." Tony interjects suddenly from behind, "Time?"

 

"No, no no...I'm gonna live forever," you jest, voice trailing into a soft laugh,"I'm gonna be made of plastic." Tony hands you your drink order while Helen smiles at you.

 

"You'll be made of _you_ mister Barton," She corrects, "Your own girlfriend won't be able to tell the difference."

 

"Well I don't have a girlfriend." You retort a little sharper than you intended before taking a swig of your drink. Mmm, kale. Tastes as bitter as your lovelife. Thankfully the anesthetics are keeping you numb enough to not give a damn right now about either one.

 

"That I can't fix," She retorts before directing the conversation at Stark, "This is the next thing Tony. Your clunky metal suits are gonna be left in the dust."

 

"Well-that is-exactly...the plan." You are not sure if Tony is being serious or if he just could not think of a good comeback in time. Regardless, Tony takes advantage and maneuvers the conversation to a completely unrelated topic. "And Helen I expect to see you at the party Saturday."

 

She turns towards Tony and tilts her head before chiding him.

 

"Unlike you I don't have a lot of time for parties."

 

She pauses for a moment, looking down at her clipboard.

 

"Will...Thor...Be there?"

 

Subtle.

 

"Of course!" Tony affirms, gesturing openly with his arms as he rotates his wrists, "Asguardians can't say no to a victory party-'spoils of war' and 'revels'-plundering- beer pong-and all that other viking stuff Asguardians do." His voice trails off as he moves towards Bruce, looping his right arm around his neck and over his shoulder.

 

"Now if you'll excuse me ladies...and Legolas, but I'm going to have to borrow this nerd here for a while."

 

 

You watch Tony lead a hesitant and disappointed looking Bruce to the exit. "Remember people!" He calls, waving three fingers in the air, "Party-time in 3 days!"

 

"Well then if that's the case," Helen concedes, "I have good news for you mister Barton."

 

You quirk an eyebrow at her while you continue to drink your kale drink.

 

"With the steadfast progression of the procedure, your torso should be fully repaired within the next few hours." She smiles at you reassuringly as she continues in a voice wavering with a new-found bubbliness. Probably due to the news that a certain blonde god will be at the party.

 

"Given that you will only need a full 24 hours minimum for a complete recovery of the regeneration process, you will be sure to have more than enough time to rest up and be ready for the party....which also gives me plenty of time to find a new dress."

 

Oh good. Just what you were hoping for. Not only do you have time to sober up from the anesthetics, but you also get to not drink for another 24 hours. Maybe you can use that time constructively and complete some tasks, like inspecting your bow's condition, or calculating whether you would save more money by repairing the broken tractor in the shed or by selling it. Or you could even use that time to, say, contemplate how you are going to maturely and collectively handle your wife cheating on you with your older brother. Should probably put that problem on the top of your to-do list. Or...Not. You chuckle quietly to yourself at the irony of the whole situation. It's pretty funny if you think about it; a veteran agent, top spy in S.H.I.E.L.D, and yet not once did you catch hint of her cheating on you until it was plastered right in your face. Nat side-eyes you as your laughter becomes more pronounced in the quiet of the room, raising an eyebrow in concern. You flash her a weak thumbs up with your left hand as you return to slowly sipping on your drink. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 You really wish you could have stayed unconscious.


	4. Hungover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was actually going to be one big chapter entitled "strings". However portions seemed to flow better when separated. The music for this chapter also has a instrumental link within the text for those who enjoy a more interactive experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Staring at the bottom of your glass_  
>  _Hoping one day you'll make a dream last_  
>  _But dreams come slow and they go so fast_  
>  music: ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Vk0y55hJjo))

 

 

 

 

You currently reside on the armrest of a loveseat near the back of the room, adamantly refraining from the center of the party as you work on your third beer. Helen stands in front of you in her new blue dress as she inquires about your condition since the surgery.

 

"I'm fine Helen..." You insist. "No complications what-so-ever."

 

"That's not what I'm incurring Barton. I can fully see that you feel fine." She taps the tip of her manicured finger against her champagne glass, "However it is important that I keep track of any and all complications you may have experienced during your recovery in order to better advance the technology. So, no matter how small the complication, I need you to detail your recovery process over the pass three days."

 

You grab your beer from the side table and answer Helen between sips.

 

"Day one was fine..." You begin, "Couldn't do much but it wasn't too bad."

 

* * *

 

 

 

You spent most of those 24 hours of required recovery in your bed or on the small couch in your room. You actually like your room in the Avengers Tower. Tony was sure to install enough windows to give you a clear view of the city. The only downside to your room is that it's exactly right next to Thor's. Anyone who has been around the guy knows for a fact that his laugh is anything but quiet, or his voice for that matter. Which means he is usually yelling into the phone to compensate for the weak reception Jane has when she attends those research conferences on the other side of the planet. In fact, Thor bolstering "HELLO, YES, JANE?" at five in the morning has become like your alarm clock.

As for your body, it was still pretty sore and you had trouble bending your torso. Eventually Nat came in to check on you and brought along some take-out. However she also ended up playing your parole officer, dragging you back to your bed when you started to become restless. You tried to assure her you had recovered enough to enjoy the night out on the town. You even tried to broker with her, explaining that you could _prove_ you were well enough by going down to the training facility for a late night target practice. However your attempts at persuasion were in vein when you tried to bend forward to put on your shoes and ended up falling face first onto the floor.

Seeing as this unfortunately reaffirmed Nat's previous assumptions about your condition, she then determined that you needed direct monitoring in order to "make sure you don't risk jeopardizing your physical state during your _required_  24-hour recovery period". Therefore she forcefully tucked you into the bed and immediately plopped herself on top the covers beside you, refusing to leave until she was sure you fell asleep. She then proceeded to entertain herself with her phone, reading out various boring news articles and celebrity gossip. You reluctantly fell asleep in the middle of her reading something from Cosmo about strange flirting techniques and whether she thought they were any good.

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Day two I hit the gym." You continue. "So far everything's been moving like normal."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

You woke up at three in the morning in a cold sweat, still shaken by one hell of a nightmare that you still cannot seem to recall. Blurred visions of something blue,  words in a language you cannot recognize, and a searing coldness in your chest are all it left you as you stared wide-eyed into the darkened room, gripping at your heart through the cloth of your chest.

 

Too anxious for sleep you marched straight to the firing range. You practiced firing with your bow, some guns, knives, more arrows, a rifle, whatever you had around you. When you wasted at least a third of all the practice ammo you decided  to run four miles on the treadmill along with some gymnastics and parkour training. You would have done more if it was not for the not-so-unexpected blackout in the facility. As you entered the elevator you were greeted by Tony, shining a smile as he reminded you how “you really should eat more, you know, so you don’t wind up passing out again”, while you raised an eyebrow, examining the half burned-off shirt and soot covering his face and arms.

 

"Minor mishap in the lap," he explains, "Not important. What _is_  important, though, is this-"

 

Tony reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small device that reminded you of a strange mix between the claw in those claw machine games and an arrowhead. Eyebrow still raised, you look back at Tony. He rolled his eyes, shrugging a bit as he added more context to the item.

 

"Its a drive-stun gun arrowhead-or 'DSA' as I like to call-its been one of my pet projects lately; put it on the ol' to-do list after I figured  you could use something in your arrow collection that could stun instead of, you know, completely kill everything. I know your more of a detonating arrow kinda guy, but I think you'll probably make this one of your faves. Obviously this is a prototype, but so far the specs are promising. 50,000 voltage and 0.0021 milliamps...Should be more than enough to get your average Joe to hit the floor-and not in the good way. Oh and don't worry cause these babies can calculate the distance between them and their target using a built-in infrared detection system; so those probes can send all that sweet, sweet electric shock into the nervous system without wasting a drop."

 

You were a little awestruck by the device. You secretly enjoy it when Tony designs any new features catered to your combat skills. You carefully observed the finer details on the device while Tony continued to hold it, shrugging as he turns to conversation towards, well, himself.

 

"I know, its awesome. And your welcome, obviously. Gotta keep your arsenal updated after all. Between the vibranium-based electromagnetic retractor for the Old Man's shield, extending the battery life in your Spy-mate's batons, it  took me a lot longer than I had hoped for. I swear, every time I turn around someone is always needing an equipment upgrade. Honestly I have no idea what would you guys do without me; well actually I do. Probably be renting some crap studio apartment on the edges of the city-having to take part time jobs just to cover the amenities; And Steve still keeps thinking he's gonna find an "affordable" 2-bedroom flat while apartment-hunting in Brooklyn..."

 

You begun paying little attention to Tony's ramblings as you noticed a button on the side of the arrowhead. 

 

"...To him I'm sure is somewhere in the price range of 50 bucks a month. I still don't think he grasps the concept of inflation. Then again he was in an ice-coma during the 80's. Seriously though, who does he think has been in charge of the Avengers payroll since SHIELD's collapse?? I don't see Chuck Schumer sending money our way anytime soo- _Barton what are yo_ -"

 

You immediately regretted your decision to press it. The arrowhead activated, and the lack of rubber casing also reminded you of the fact that metal does conduct electricity extremely well. The prolonged exposure sent both of you onto the elevator floor. You would recall wearily waking up a few hours later on one of the rugs in the common area next to a still passed out and drooling Tony. Meanwhile a very perturbed looking Cap and a smiling Thor examined you from above. 

 

"Thor, could you..." Steve trails.

 

"Fear not my friend. I shall carry our beloved archer to his nest, whilist you take Stark to his own chambers."

 

"Thank you Thor."

 

The last thing you would admit to remembering is Thor swooping you up bridal-style (something which seems to be happening too often these days), while you caught a glimpse of Cap lifting up Tony's wrist, as if contemplating what would be the most dignified way to carry his unconscious teammate.  You try to forget Thor taking his voluntary assistance a step further by trying to help you change into some fresh clothes or offer to help bathe you since you were still recovering. Though the gesture was appreciated you readily declined. Thor is a really great and caring guy, however there is definitely a culture gap between Asguardians and Americans, and from what you gather the concept of boundaries is a little loose in his realm. Still you thanked him for his offers. He chuckled and patted you on the back, assuring if you needed anything to let him know. Suddenly he gripped your shoulder and knelt in front of you, face stern as he spoke.

 

"Do not ever be ashamed Clint, for I too have fallen victim to the thunderous weapon your people call a "TASER". Its sting is like the venom of a serpent. I'd stay wary of it."

 

With a pat on the back he rose and left you with a "farewell good Clint" shutting the door behind him, and leaving you to reside alone on your bed while an eerie quiet enveloped the night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"And the third day?" Helen interrupts, pulling your attention away from your drifting thoughts.

 

"Well..."

 

You look down as you pause, swishing your beer a bit with the shift of your wrist.

 

"I woke up..."

 

You didn't sleep

 

"Called a friend."

 

Turned off your phone

 

"Went out for a bit..."

 

Hung out at the bars from six till  three

 

"Did some shopping..."

 

Bought some cigarettes and Jack.

 

"And finally came home and went to bed."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

You went to the rooftop of the tower and smoked half a pack, sipping shots straight from the bottle in between. You counted the number of lights on the skyscrapers to keep you from gazing at the night sky. In the depths of the city, the stars are usually clouded by the light pollution; but from atop the tower you can see a few constellations. Normally you would go up there when you needed some space. Being up high has always brought you peace of mind, and the more of the sky you could see, the freer you felt. Plus the stars are the one thing that would always keep your heart from missing home.

 

Home…

 

And Laura.

 

You grabbed one last cigarette before ditching the rest on the rooftop, as the ambiance of the stars became more lonesome than you could bear to handle. You trudged down to the commons area, clicking the emptied whiskey bottle against your thigh. The room remained deserted and dark in the sunless hours of the morning, illuminated only by the cracks between the curtains and the glowing ember of your cigarette. You maneuvered listlessly around the room until you reached the far left corner where a small bar is located. You dumped the bottle of whiskey in the trash and reached for the old guitar you left weeks ago behind the counter that nobody ever sought to put away. You took a long drag from your cigarette before putting it out in the sink. You then turned and grabbed a bottle of gin from the cabinet. Immediately you took a gulp straight out of the bottle, breathing harsh at the woodsy flavor from the juniper berries before sitting you and the bottle on the floor. With a deep breath, slowly, you picked at the chords. At first there was no rhythm, just softly playing with the untuned strings, tightening a few now and then. Yet as the flavor remained on your tongue, your focus became lost in things you would have rather forgotten.

 

You were reminded of the tall pinewood trees in the forests back home that you used to play in when you were a kid. Where you picked up your bow and arrow for the first time, hunting for deer. You would always climb the trees to get a better aim. Yet you would sometimes forget you were hunting and just climb as high as you could, eventually reaching the canopies and gasping at the vast beauty of the horizon.

 

 

You were reminded of the endless meadows of tall grass and the fluid curves of the fresh cut hay fields,and how there were no cities or skyscrapers, or concrete jungles filled with glass and gray. How the land stretched on for so far, not even you could see the end. How small it made you feel in comparison to the breathtaking view, yet still provided you a sense of serenity and completeness.

 

You were reminded of the beauty of the farmhouse in the low glow of the sunset. The warmth of the light inside. The long fingers that would caress your cheeks and guide your face to the soft lips that would tell you “welcome home”; and loving embrace that made all those tireless days and nights of hunting down Hydra bases and fighting off crazy enemies completely worth it.

 

Your brow cringed and the jagged shapes of the city lights creeping through the curtains started to mold into the forms of watercolors. Despite your vision, your fingers somehow inherently found a [tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Vk0y55hJjo). Plucking the strings as you started to recall the notes of the song. You soon began humming along, absorbing yourself in the music. Soon it flowed smoothly and the chords sung louder, while your hums gave way to voice as you whispered bits and pieces of lyrics that filtered through your head.

 

_Well you only need the light when it's burning low._

_Only miss the sun when it starts to snow._

_Only know you love her when you let her go._

_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low._

_Only hate the road when you’re missin' home._

_Only know you love her when you let her go._

_And you let her go…._

 

You remember feeling something warm and delicate drip onto your knuckles, trickling down through the crevices of your hand, reflecting the shimmer of the rising sun in the cracks of the curtains.

 

You jolted up and immediately regretted it as your head spun wildly. Still, you teetered over to wash out the sink. You then quickly snatched the bottle of gin and the guitar before wobbling towards your room. You finally crashed onto your bed and spilled half the gin on the sheets, making it just in time to hear the shouting of  your Thor-alarm-clock. Too tired and dizzy by then to care, you let your head hit the pillow and watched as the world went dark. You spent the rest of your time sleeping off your hangover until about an hour before the party.

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Well it sounds like your body is functioning as normal," Helen responds, sipping lightly at her champagne. "However if you experience any difficulties with the repairs to your abdominal region, have Stark give me a call."

 

"Oh I think I'll be fine," you assure, waving your hand, "You probably shouldn't waste any more time on me though if you want to get cozy with Thor tonight."

 

Helen cocks an eyebrow and you eye to your right while you sip your own drink. She looks over her shoulder and sees Thor leaving his previous conversation to  refresh his glass at the bar, alone.  She looks back at you, brow furrowed. You wiggle your eyebrows in response.

 

"Well I do need a new glass of champagne...Excuse me." She turns and begins to stride over to the bar.

 

"He does have a girlfriend you know." You say as she leaves, hiding a smile behind your beer.

 

"I don't see him aging!"  She calls back.

 

You watch as she marches her way over and is  suddenly  cut off from her path by Maria, Tony and Rhodey, who have preceded to steal Thor's attention with probably another one of Rhodey's ‘War Machine’ stories. You cannot help yourself but laugh at the irony you feel towards the situation. You give thanks to the good lord above for not forcing you to watch another illicit love affair try to play out before your eyes. Then again, even though Helen has been pinning for Thor you doubt he would give into it. You are more than sure that Thor is just down-right smitten with Jane. He lives in the room next to you after all, and like you said before, when him and Jane talk you can hear just about everything. Not only that but he brags on her all the time, and you got to admit you love the irritated glare Tony gives off when he gets into those "my girlfriend is better than yours" arguments with the big guy. In the end, you are really happy your friends' love-lives are going well. Seriously, you wish them the best. Be great if it turns out they found the one. You hope all your friends get that chance to find their better half. Get to walk down the aisle and marry that person. Maybe have kids. Live blissful happily ever afters. Then several years down the road when they figure everything is still peachy, they can turn around to find their better half making out with Rhodey or Sif or some other person they thought had their back and would never think of to pull some fucked up shit like that. Haha, yeah...

  
  


 

 

 

 

You think you need another beer.

 

 


	5. Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Babe, the night has swallowed my soul_  
>  _Could it be that I fell apart, it shows_  
>  _The lines on my face ate away my smile_  
>  _Could it be that I fell apart..._  
>  music: [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RsQjC5zVnt8)

 

 

 

 

 

"You've been drinking again." A voice whispers behind you.

  


You listen to the languid tapping of heels against the dark tile as they casually make their way around the couch.

  


"Well it _is_ a party..."  you reply.

  


Slender legs veiled in black chiffon glide gracefully along the edge of the armrest. You move your legs to hang off the side of the couch while she shifts closer to you until you are knee to knee and her warmth radiates against your side. She leans forward a bit and in the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of a porcelain arm caressed in a white sleeve and hair that shimmers like a low burning flame in the night.

  


"So..."She muses softly, "Are you going to fess up and tell me what's bothering you? Or do I have to knock it out of you like last time?"

  


You huff a smile as you sip your beer. However Natasha's face is flat lined with her eyes dead set on you, waiting to make contact.You drink slowly, letting the quiet grow as you refrain from acknowledging her penetrating stare. You sigh, licking away the droplets of beer that escaped onto your lips before she breaks the silence.

  


"A week ago Maria tells me that you reserved three days off, yet you show up back at the tower in less than two."

  


You look down at the bottle before finally giving in and matching her gaze. Natasha's pose is like that of a still-beauty, the focus of  a masterpiece painting; with piercing green irises that could both terrify and melt the hearts of even the strongest of men.  However, it is an illusion. An alluring mask that has become part of her habitual nature  as a spy.  A mask that only you can see through, able to catch the smallest hints in her eyes and voice that will usually betray her image. What many would deem focused, intense, or unyielding, her  gaze implies to you that she is concerned, and frustrated. You feebly attempt to deter the subject.

  


"Did you know that you look absolutely gorgeous tonight."

 

"Did you know I found your cigarettes on the rooftop."

 

" How do you know they were mine?"

 

She smiles softly.  "There aren't that many people I can think of who have a habit of chain-smoking and music-playing at three in the morning."

 

You shake your head and shift your eyes towards the ground. A grin tugs at the edges of your lips.

 

"You care too much for me."

 

"Well someone has to."

  


The quiet resettles between the two of you. She tilts her gaze towards the ground before aiming it back onto you. She leans in to whisper and you can smell her perfume. Fragrant, but not flowery. A hint of some kind of spice, cinnamon maybe. Its a smell that reminds you of a luxurious department store from the gilded era. Its elegant and refined, yet subtle, and so very Natasha.

  


"To, chto proizoshlo s Laura, Clint?"

  


You keep looking at the ground, brow furrowing. You feel an unusual tightness in your chest as you contemplate telling Nat about what happened at the farm. You clench the neck of your bottle.

  


"Nothing."  The word comes out a little sharper than you intended.

 

"She called me you know."

  


Your chest constricts further. You down the rest of your beer, eyes half-lidding in disappointment at the bottle's emptiness when its collar leaves your lips.

  


"She told me your phone has been off for a while now..." Her voice trails for a bit, eyes glancing down towards your hands.  "She wanted to know if you were on a mission."

  


Suddenly your mouth goes dry.

  


"...And what did you tell her?" You whisper.

  


She pauses, bringing her eyes back to you. You catch sight of a certain softness in those sharp irises. You wonder if it could be the alcohol inflicting all this chest-pain.  

  


"I told her..." She drawls as she leans back, sighing as she continues.

 

 

"... I told her that you had been sent on a private assignment. Very covert. I assured her you were fine and keeping in touch with the team, and that you would call her once the mission was over."

 

_'God bless Natasha.'_

 

You exhale, sighing in relief. She smirks as she speaks.

 

"So...Are you ready to tell me?"

 

"Not..." You linger on the word as you stretch your back.

 

"Not until I get to ask you one, very simple, question."

 

She quirks an eyebrow as you look straight into her beautiful green tourmaline eyes.

  


"Banner? _Really??_ "

  


You shine her a crooked grin and she bumps your shoulder a bit with her hand as soft laughter escapes the two of you. When the laughter fades, Natasha peers toward the ground.

  


"He's not like us..."She states, "We live to fight. He does what he can, when he can, to avoid it. And yet..."

  


She pauses, transfixing her view on the pristine cityscape through the window.

  


"....He didn't volunteer to be a fighter. He had no choice."

 

"Like you." You interrupt. You see a twinge in her face, the smallest furrow of her brow as her eyes become half-lidded.

 

"It was different when we were spies." She reminds you. "It was easier to find someone to love when you could still remain nameless. Things have changed now. The world knows us. Getting close without risk isn't possible anymore." A quiet smile tugs at the edges of her lips as her eyes become hazy and lost in thought.

 

"Banner is quiet. He's shy and peaceful and he's so fascinated by the world. He's someone you could settle down with. Grow old with."

 

"Natasha..." Her name is all you can manage to say before she tilts her head to gaze down at your feet. You feel your heart weighed down in your chest, sinking as you see just the slightest watery glimmer in the whites of her eyes.  

 

"I know he's not my soulmate."  

 

Her eyebrows cringe just the slightest.

 

"Not all of us are meant to find the one. Not all of us can. But still..."

  


She turns her head towards you, face stern yet her eyes sparkling in such a way that it keeps you from breathing.

  


"I want what you have Clint...Or at least try to."

  


The tremor in her voice speaks volumes to you, stabbing you like a chisel etching cracks into your heart.  You cannot stand to see Nat like this. The only thing you want for Natasha is to be happy. For all her pain to go away. She deserves so much more than this world has given her. However, you cannot do much when it comes to matters like this, except just try to ease the pain. Make her smile.  Make her laugh and feel good. Be happy. So you try.

  


"Well I might not be a good model to follow."

  


It slips.

 

A joke meant to cheer her up, only now leaves you ridged and looking down at the floor. You rub your right hand on top of the other and just barely peek up at her. Nat's eyes are wide, lips pursed, and brows raised. You could probably guess what she is thinking of. All the questions and condolences. Very rare does Nat break face in public. Its something she will do for the few she favors. Yet despite the honor of seeing her guard down, you feel small. You bite your lip and you try to hold back the trembles that are raising chills up your shoulders.

  


"You know..."

  


You ponder, voice a little bit hoarse.

  


"...Sometimes...I wonder why we were never soulmates." You raise your head, brows cringing with a crooked smile. Nat smiles and leans in closer to you.

 

"If I recall, I used to wonder the same thing." She brings her head to rest on your shoulder, "And when I asked you one day, you came up with a brilliant answer. Do you  remember?"

  


You say nothing.

  


"You said that we would both have to abandon our lifestyle because neither one of us could ever bear the thought of  being the reason the other would have to go through life alone."

  


You bite your lip again as she slowly glides her hand across your leg, draping it to entwine her slender fingers with yours.

  


"You told me _'I would rather live an endless life with you by my side, than kick the bucket too soon and be the reason you couldn't have the happiness you deserve.'_ "

  


You grip her hand a little tighter. Its warm and soft, unlike the hollow bottle in your left.

  


"Besides neither one of us knows how to settle down anyways."

  


You huff a smile and tilt your neck to kiss her head. Natasha never ceases to amaze you. She seems to always know what to say. Its true, there was a time you both felt there was something more. A spark that made you second-guess all your plans for life. However the spark faded and what you found was that the love you had for each other was more platonic than romantic. In the end Natasha became like family to you. No, more than that; someone you could always count on, and at times the _only_ person you could count on.

  


"I'm still gonna root for you, you know." you assure her, "Just remember that Banner's a dead-end when it comes to romance. The guy probably wouldn't know you were flirting with him even if you wore a neon t-shirt with the words 'Date Me Bruce' on it."

 

"I better bring my A-game then." she quips.

 

"More like A+ with some extra credit on the side." You add.

  


She laughs, and just for a brief moment you feel the tension in Nat's body loosen; a crack in her walls. Her laughter is genuine. It's the laugh she has that is a little dry, a little off-key, and reveals the beauty in her humanity that she tries to hide everyday. A hint at the person behind the portrait. It loosens the tightness in your chest, and for a moment, you are able to relax alongside her.

  


"I always got your back, Nat." You murmur.

  


This time it is Nat who squeezes  your hand a little tighter. A silent gesture that means more than any words could say.

  


"...You know, Tony bought a new drum-set."  She detours, "Thought I might warn you in case he wants to impress the guests-"

 

"By challenging me to a drum-off? He's gonna embarrass himself...again."

 

"He's a sore loser, Clint. Can't handle us spies having so many secret talents."

  


You snort and shake your head as Natasha presses into you. You both stay like that, entwined together for a while, gazing out into the Manhattan skyline. The silence returns, but this time it is not weighted. Its enveloped in the fondness you have for one another. That comfortable tranquility between the two of you, where not a single word needs to be said because the closeness says it all.  After some time, Nat whispers, her head still resting against your shoulder.

  


"When you're ready to talk about your love life, I'll be there for you too."

 

"I know Nat," you assure her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"...I know."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 


	6. Cracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been a while since I had a chance to update. Unfortunately I am my own beta, so sorry if you see typos and such (i'll get to them later), but hopefully this at least makes up for the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Just like those fibs to pop and fizz"_  
>  _"And you'll be forced to take that awful quiz"_  
>  _"and you're bound to trip, and she'll detect the fiction on your lips,"_  
>  _"and dig a contradiction up."_  
>  music:[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hf-B3Y3B0TQ)
> 
>  
> 
> -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Shattered glass cracks beneath your feet with each step, shimmering  in the dusty morning light.  In the midst of overturned coffee tables and tattered sofas you crouch and begin to brush aside broken wine glasses and cracked beer bottles; examining spilt take-out containers and misellanous keys and knick-nacks that ultimately made their way onto the freshly cracked floor. An  overdose of sunlight engulfs the room, stinging your eyes and you shut them, cringing your brow as you bring your left hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose.  You breathe deep and release a heavy sigh from your chest before embracing the light, returning your hands to sifting through the debris of a party that in the end you were actually starting to enjoy.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

       You try to ignore it. Yet every time your hand brushes past your pocket your fingers twitch and your hand flinches as if it's been burned by fire. However no one seems to notice anything other than the drumstick you keep twirling in your left hand. Not even Maria, despite how close she is sitting next you. Either that or she's being too polite to say anything about it, which is something you deeply appreciate right now. Ever since your conversation with Natasha something has been irking you in the back of your mind; a growing need to turn on your phone. Each time you think about it, you feel a pull in your chest like a rope lassoed around your heart, tightening at the thought of hearing her voice, yet dragging you evermore closer with the desire to listen. You wish you could just brush it off. After all, its probably no different than any other time she has called while you were away. The conversations never lasted more than a minute or two, and the phrasing was always routine:

_"Hope your mission goes well. I'll see you when you come home, be safe"._

 

Yet regardless of what you have been accustomed to, you still feel the need to check; as if there is something important you are going to miss.

 

 

_What if its serious, like an injury?_

_Could the kids be hurt? Could Laura??_

_What if the farmhouse caught fire...Wait..._

 

 

The farmhouse. You practically died on the battlefield three days ago no matter how smooth the mission was going, still troubled by the memories of that night. Its not much of a stretch to think that you were not as covert as you thought you were then either.

 

 

_But she couldn't have seen me; I wasn't in her line of sight..._

_Doubt the kids noticed either; otherwise they would've said something..._

_She couldn't have seen the flowers, I parked away from the house, too far to be found unless you were looking for them..._

_But the kids might've. They seem to have a knack for finding things I don't want them to, just like Barney._

_I swear if I didn't know better I'd say they were his ki-_

 

 

You are struck with wave of nausea. You don't dare want to finish _that_ train of thought. In fact, this might be a sign that you need another drink, or four. Something preferably made with enough hooch to kill all of your brain cells, or at least enough to where all you can remember is your own damn name. Hell, might as well just pull out the everclear Tony thinks he's hiding in the cupboard, mix up some cheap jungle juice, and wait for the spirit to knock you on your ass. Why not? It _is_ a party afterall, and you would be more than happy to black out and sacrifice your dignity to the reckoning of Tony's stupid Vine account, if it meant you could destroy that thought for good. However, before you can make your way back to the bar, you feel something warm press up against your side.

 

 

"Here."

 

 

You tilt your head and watch as Maria pushes her left hand against your shoulder to grab a pair of unused chopsticks off of the coffee table, and break them before setting them into your right hand. She then proceeds to grab a box of take-out from the side table next to the couch behind you.

 

 

"I don't know what's going on with you, and I doubt you'd tell me..." She remarks as she opens the take-out box, "but all I know is you've been drinking a lot more than usual tonight. So before you tempt fate and hit the hard stuff..."

 

She holds out the take-out box in front of you.

 

"Eat."

 

 

You side-eye her, quirking an eyebrow.

 

 

"Last time I checked, that only works If you have it _before_ you start drinking." You retort, "Also I'm pretty sure you would know by now, I'm pretty damn good at holding my own."

 

She rolls her eyes. "Oh believe me I know. Natasha was sure to be explicitly detailed in her report on Tiraspol. But until you get into another drinking match with a ex-Soviet general and a British black market arms dealer, you still need to eat, so come on.  I haven't even seen you eat a single snack the entire night. " She stretches her arm until the take-out is hovering right in front of your face. "Its  lo mien with shrimp, just how you like it."

 

 

You pause for a moment, mouth flat-lined as you stare down Maria with tired eyes. She motions with her head towards the food. With a sigh, you bring your right hand up to grab the box. She then resituates herself against the foot of the couch.

 

 

"Don't let bad things blind you from the good around you. It'll mess with your aim."

 

 

 She tilts her head revealing the smirk that has plastered itself on her face. You fight a smile, shaking your head in surrender before placing the drumstick in your left hand on the coffee table so you can eat.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 Natasha suddenly spins around and grabs your wrists, pinning you in the tight door frame of her bedroom closet. You raise an eyebrow.

 

 

"What, did I pinch you?"

 

"You left yourself wide open," your noses are practically touching, but given how ferocious the green shines in her eyes you would hardly call this an intimate moment.

 

 "You had no gun, no weapon. You can't keep acting this way. You know where that kind of carelessness leads."

 

 

The tinge at the end of her voice gives way to what she hides in her sharp eyes. Her jaw is clenched and you sigh heavily before loosening yourself from her weakening grasp. You gently place your hands on her shoulders, turning her around so you can finish unzipping her dress. Her eyes leer towards the floor as she slides her arms out of the sleeves, before pulling tank top brashly over her head.

 

 

"Nat...listen ok? You don't have to worry. I'm not some rookie who's gonna let my emotions keep getting to me. I'm not that kind of guy."

 

 

You kneel down to gather up her dress and glance up, only for her eyes narrow in response as she slides herself into a pair of pants.

 

 

"Ok yes, I grabbed Roger's shield to toss to him instead of grabbing something else for my own safety, but I didn't purposely leave myself open. I didn't engage for the most part and evaded most of their attacks." 

 

"Helen's technology is pointless if you keep letting yourself get hurt," She chides cooly as she yanks a hoodie off her closet door while you place the dress on a hanger, " You think you're hiding it but I know where you've been cut. Tell me Clint, how many more glass windows is it going to take before you quit jumping through them?"

 

 

You turn to look at her, now standing with her arms crossed and eyebrows quirked, boots on and ready to go. A weak smile encroaches your face as you consider the question while placing the dress in the closet.

 

 

"Oh I don't know Nat...How 'bout when I find my better half beneath it, like when they crack the glass at Jewish weddings. Yeah, that seems like a pretty good place to stop."

 

 

You huff a laugh, but the joke leaves a bitter taste on your tongue as you switch off the closet light and close the door. You try to ignore the burn it leaves in your chest, closing your eyes for a moment to take a deep breath. However you feel a sudden warmth on the top of your hand and gaze down, finding it to be Natasha's palm. Her wrist shifts to entwine her fingers with yours, allowing her thumb to carefully caress the inside of your palm as she leans against you. A silent assurance that you are not alone.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You perch yourself on the platform beside the railing, separating you from the main part of the lab where Natasha, Bruce and Tony type rapidly on computers, analyzing equipment and all the like for the past hour. However as their analyses slow, the room grows eerily quiet. Eventually they all halt. First is Natasha, leaving the rest of the team to observe the hard drives near Rhodey, face calm yet contemplating. Second is Banner, who continues to bite his lip, taking long and deep breaths in order to remain composed. Now the only person still pressing buttons is Tony. However his search seems to go beyond the realms of the other two, alluded by Bruce's carefully timed glances towards his lab partner. As Tony's eyes flicker between screens, they widen. His jaw becomes clenched as his hands seem to fidget lest they remain at work. Yet amidst his efforts, something jolts in Tony. You catch his body turning rigid; hands griping at the metal counter while he stares absently towards the corrupted remains of "Ultron". His face pales.

 

 

"All our work is gone..." Banner cuts in weakly, "Ultron cleared out, used the internet as an escape hatch."

 

" _Ultron._ "  Cap mumbles as he moves his sharpened gaze from the ground; his own body visibly tense.

 

"He's been in everything," Nat details as she removes herself from the glass, "files, surveillance-probably knows more about us than we know about each other."

 

 

There's a hidden strain in her voice as her brow furrows. You gaze down, knowing far too well what she is implying. The implications seem to have affected Rhodey as well, as he moves closer towards the center of the lab, left arm gripping at his shoulder.

 

 

"He's in your files, he's in the internet. What if he decides to access something a little more _exciting?"_

 

Maria tilts her head upward from the jagged glass she's been trying to pull out of her foot.

 

_"_ Nuclear codes-"  She deducts.

 

" _Nuclear codes_." Rhodey repeats, weighing the words in the already heavy atmosphere.

 

"Look we need to make some calls, assuming we still can."

 

 

Nat's green eyes sharpen their gaze at Rhodey, narrowing as she raises her chin.

 

 

"Nukes? He said he wants _us_ dead-"

 

"He didn't say 'dead'," Steve intercepts.

 

"He said ' _extinct'_."

 

"He also said he killed somebody," you recall.

 

"There wasn't anyone else in the building." Maria notes.

 

"Yes, there was."

 

 

Tony's voice is soft, too quiet and withdrawn to be his, making it almost unrecognizable in the heavy silence. He moves himself towards the center of the room, feet slow as his body trudges, shifting a card in his right hand and revealing a bright orange hologram of what looks like scraps. He lays the card on the nearby desk. Bruce's eyes widen, and he begins to edge closer towards the image. The tips of his fingers reach for the scattered remnants of amber parts projected in the broken hologram as he speaks.

 

 

"This is insane..."

 

 

Caps arms are crossed tightly around his chest; every much the visage of a weary soldier, contemplating as his hardened gaze falls to towards the ground.

 

 

"Jarvis was the first line of defense. He would have shut Ultron down, it makes sense-"

 

"No" Bruce corrects, eyes still lost in the image before him; "He could have assimilated Jarvis-this...isn't strategy, this is..." his brow furrows, " _rage._ "

 

 

The sound of brisk footsteps pace louder into the room as the edges of a familiar crimson cape flow from the tailwinds. Catching sight of the raging glare in Thor's eyes, you watch as he marches straight towards Tony and grabs him by the throat.

 

 

" _Whoa, whoa, whoa-"_ Cap cautions, attempting to avoid a fight.

 

"Its going around." You remark.

 

 

Tony grips both hands firmly to Thor's forearm as he is raised into the air with the same lightness of Thor's own hammer.

 

 

"Come on-" Tony coughs out from the vice grip on his neck, "use your words buddy-"

 

 _"_ I have _more_ than enough words to describe you, Stark." Thor's knuckles twitch; fingers tempted to increase the pressure.

 

" _Thor!"_ Cap diverts, shifting Thor's attention, "The legionair..."

 

 

With a dissatisfied grunt, Thor releases him from his grasp, glaring at Tony as he stumbles back before addressing the entire lab.

 

 

"Trail went cold about 100 miles out-but is headed North." He leers back at Tony, leaning forward, " _and_ it has the scepter." He turns towards the rest of you,  his brow furrowed.

 

"Now we have to retrieve it _again._ "

 

"Well the genie's out of _that_ bottle," Nat huffs as she straightens herself, "clear and present is Ultron-"

 

"I-I don't understand...." You shift your sight to the right of the room and find Helen leaning on a workbench, staring intensely at the dismantled machine before her. Her hands clench tightly as she pushes herself off the counter and turns to face Stark.

 

"You built this program....Why is it trying to kill us?"

 

Back facing the rest of the team, it only takes a few moments before Tony starts chuckling as he types commands languidly into the computer while Bruce fidgets, shaking his head restlessly as a signal to Tony. Thor clenches his jaw, yet smirks in an effort to appear lax.

 

 

"You think this is funny?"

 

"No?" Tony turns himself towards Thor. His lips quirk, yet his shoulders are too stiff and spine too straight, and his head keeps jerking and titling in certain ways that can only lead you to one conclusion.

 

 

He's hiding something.

 

 

"It's probably _not_ , right?" He faces this rest of you; the showman in him putting himself on display, "This is very terrible? Is it so..." he snickers before continuing, " Is it so-it is. It's so terrible-"

 

"This could have been avoided if you hadn't played with someone you don't understan-"

 

"No -I'm Sorry-It is funny-"

 

 

Tony's jesting cuts off so fast its unsettles you. Raising his hand, he slowly paces toward Thor, eyes dark. His mouth flat-lines as he grits out honed words.

 

 

"Its a _hoot_ that you don't _get_ why we need this-"

 

"Tony..." Bruce cautions, "Maybe this might not be the tim-"

 

" _REALLY?"_ Tony's voice heightens as he redirects his glare.

 

"That's it? You just roll over-show your belly- _every time_ somebody snarls-"

 

" _Only when I've created a murder-bot."_

 

"We didn't! We weren't even close-were we close to an interface?!"

 

 

Bruce shrugs and nods his head as Cap intervenes.

 

 

"Well ya did somethin' right, and ya did it right here."

 

 

He steps closer to Tony, arms crossed too tightly over his chest to be considered relaxed.

 

 

"I thought the Avengers were supposed to be _different_ than SHIELD-"

 

 

Tony backs away and raises his hand as he points towards the ceiling.

 

 

" _Anybody remember..._ When I carried a nuke through a wormhole?"

 

 

Rhodey scoffs.

 

 

"No, Its never come up-"

 

" _Saved_ New York-"

 

"Never heard that-"

 

" ** _Recall that-_** a hostile alien army came _charging_ through a hole in space-We're standing 300 feet below it!"

 

 

As images flash through your mind, chills embrace your spine and you immediately tense in an effort to suppress it. You press your hands together, rubbing your fingers and palms, trying not to let the suffocating tightness of your lungs take over. Your mouth goes dry and your eyes become misty, and you look down in the hopes of avoiding eye contact with anyone else until you can compose yourself. It's the everlasting nightmare, replayed in your head whenever that staff shines its fearsome blue glow or when Tony "recalls" New York. Just cause you don't scream in the day doesn't mean it don't haunt you at night. You see it too vividly to be counted as just dreams; green eyes, gunshots, blood. You kill civilians. You kill comrades. Y _ou kill friends_ ; and yet that's not the worse part. What scares you the most is that you _wanted_ to do it.  Driven like an addiction to take whatever means to complete the mission, to head him, to _please_ him. The obedience is absolute and the thought of ever experiencing that again _terrifies_ you.

 

By the time you regain your calm the rest of the team has begun to disperse. You lean against the railing as you allow the room to empty, legs not quite ready to move. Suddenly you feel a hand softly caress your shoulder. You tilt your head to catch a glance, already suspecting  \who it might be. Fiery red curls block your view as you feel a warm breath whisper Russian words into your ear.

 

 

"[ _Get your phone. Assure Fury is secure. I'll start deciphering what's left of SHIELD's old encrypted database for leads._ ]"

 

 

Her hand slides across your back and lifts away from your other shoulder. You watch as she makes her way down the stairs and towards the exit.

 

 

"Krome togo," she calls back as she exits the room, " Vam nuzhno pozvonit' Laura."

 

 

 

 

 

 

With a deep breath, you push yourself off the railing and stick your hands into your pockets as you march down to the door to begin the new phase of your next mission.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been debating for a long time that the next chapter might take a look from a certain speedster's point of view, however I'm still not sure. I would love to get some second opinions though if anybody is up. Just let me know in the comments, it would help me out a lot. thank you<3


	7. Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _We've both got a million bad habits to kick,_  
>  _Not sleeping is one._  
>  _We're biting our nails, you're biting my lip._  
>  _....I'm biting my tongue._  
>  ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eWUnVyO1Klk))

 

 

 

 

Soft sheets glow in the lowlight of the falling sun. The light catches your half -lidded eyes as you bring your left hand to shield them. You shift and roll to your side, finding the silhouette of a women hidden by lilac cotton sheets. With a groan you lift yourself up and slide your legs over the edge of the bed. You hunch over and bring your hands up to cover your face. You take a steady breath before quietly rising from the bed to grab your boxers from the floor. As you spot your pants lingering on top of the door to the room, the sound of rustling sheets and creaks of old springs halts you before you even have a chance to get past the light of the window. You feel hands slide their way up and over your shoulders as soft lips press kisses up your spine.

 

 

"Ostati."

 

 

You turn around and drop your boxers, opting to press her body against yours as you kiss her deeply. Her crimson painted lips give way to muffled moans as your tongue dances between her teeth, hands rising to caress the gentle shape of her jaw as her palms glide over yours. You slide your hands down her neck and over her arms, fingers trailing against the shape of her torso before settling on her waist as her arms wrap themselves around your neck, drowning you further into her embrace. She arches her back and tilts her head, drizzling her honey-colored hair away from her collarbone and you instinctively begin to paint patterns of kisses against the skin as you suffocate on her over-flowery perfume.

 

 

"Moj junak..." She whispers as she pulls you close, "Moj junak iz zavičaj."

 

You grin against her freckled skin.

 

"Puno hvaliti Gertie..All I did was bring you a dress."

 

"No, it is not too much praise." she drifts her hands over your face to tilt your head, forcing you to stare into her half-lidded hazel eyes.

 

"You _are_ a hero Pietro. I see what you do for the people...Your kindness, your strength, your passion- _oh_ , kako hocu da budem blagosloven kao tvoj srodna duša."

 

 

She tilts her head down to reunite her lips with yours and that delicious spark of adrenaline you ache for in your veins steeps into an icy dose of reality. You lean back, escaping the entrapment of her lips, only for her to see it as an unwarranted invitation to stain your jawline with her cherry-red lips. You start to feel hollow and sick, itching to find yourself an escape. She begins kissing down your chest and you glance around the room for ideas, inspired once you catch sight of your dufflebag at the foot of the bed. Gently you place your hands on Gertie's arms and slide yourself out of her grasp.

 

 

"Gertie-ne, statsi. I need to go, I need to get Yussel's prescription."

 

She giggles as you speed around the room to gather you belongings.

 

"See...such a hero."

 

She smiles and waves you goodbye as you finish putting on your clothes and whisk out the door, not bothering to look back.

 

 

It has always been this way with you, even before the experiments. Endlessly courting women and catering to their lust and affection; but when they start wanting more the heat of the moment becomes lost and you back out, constantly forced to realize that where they feel a spark you feel nothing, and that your feelings of "love" are no more than a cheap disguise for fear. You slow down once you are a fair distance away from Gertie's apartment and begin to walk along the empty stone streets of the old city; meanwhile her words echo in your ear.

 

 

_"[oh, how I want to be blessed as your soulmate.]"_

 

 

To this day it has always been your greatest fear that you would die alone. You remember hearing the painful stories of those who never find their soulmate, of those who are constantly searching and never finding their one and only. Who wander the earth lost and alone, never feeling complete, only to find their peace in the grave. However, the stories you know are not all desolate. Your mother would always talk about how she was blessed to be with your father, that she knew right from the start he was the one. You remember her sitting at her vanity, staring at her hair when she got her first grey strand, and burst into tears of joy. You remember catching sight of your parents before going to bed, smiling in the dim light of the living room as they curled up to each other on the sofa, while your mother spent rest of the night combing her hands through your father's hair who had already beat her strand by three. To you, their love was the most beautiful thing in the world.

 

The fear only grew after their death. Two weeks after they found you and Wanda, they uncovered your parents bodies in the rubble, bloodied and bruised, lying dead in a tomb of broken concrete. However, what surprised the recovery team was not that their bodies were still in tact, but that when they removed the debris they found that they were facing each other, with one hand holding the other, grasp almost firm enough to second guess their pulse. You remember Wanda crying for weeks, still believing by some miracle that they would have somehow survived the collapse, holding her tightly until you could hear her soft snoring. However for you, most nights you would awaken in the midst of fierce nightmares of you dying on the cold ground, reaching out to your soulmate, only to find there is no hand to hold. When you would spend your nights comforting Wanda, opportunity for sleep was better. However the nightmares would still hurt. Dreams of you and Wanda growing up, seeing her find her soulmate and surpass you in life, leaving you behind. It would be a lie if you said on those nights you did not hug Wanda a little longer, and a little tighter.

 

It was when you reached about fifteen did your fears begin to affect your actions. During your shifts as the coffeehouses you would hear the older men nag about their wives and their woes. Sometimes they would pull you down to sit with them for a while on slow days, play a few rounds of backgammon and share with you their words of wisdom on all matters of life. Sadly like most of their lessons, their "wise words" on love did little to ease your fear.

 

 

"Find yourself a nice traditional woman Pietro. One that will cook, and cook well. Love is not important if she can make good food."

 

"Ne Pietro, go up North, the women of the country are strong and make good mothers-"

 

 

They would always go on and on about what woman to look for and try to set you up with their daughters and granddaughters, already quick to give you their blessing on the supposed future matrimony. They would laugh and joke about their poor mistakes and their now loveless marriages, but be content in their lives because they believed to search for your soulmate was pointless game. Rather it was best to just marry and settle for what you can.

 

 

"Either find someone who you can put up with," they'd advise, "or sleep with enough women on the chance that your hair will turn grey."

 

 

Patience was never one of your strong suits. Yet settling down has never been your forte either, so you took the latter option. Since then you have been relentless in pursuing women, hoping to find the one; to find that spark, that sign, that hint that they are destined to be your soulmate. You begin to hear shouting and your mind drifts from your thoughts back to reality. You tilt your head to the left and see an older man yelling at a young adolescent woman, her hair exposed from tears in her hidžab. Her fists are clenched as she leans forward, brow furrowed and eyes wide as she stares down the man before her.

 

 

"[You are a fool if you think God will ignore such a ferocious sin, Agneza!]" The older man chastises, his wide frame and voice bellowing, almost echoing in the small alley.

 

" _[ Stop this at once!! ]_ "

 

 _"[ No, I will not stop! ]"_ She shouts, voice wavering yet brash, visibly channeling all of her power into the words she speaks.

 

"[ I will not stop being with Malina because you believe in a God to be so cruel and unloving. Because you see only certain souls to be with others. Tata, I love her and that will **not** change!! ]"

 

 _"nezahvalna kučka!!_ " The older man lunges towards the woman. Immediately she dodges and instead he counters by gripping whats left of her tattered hidžab, splitting it in two while she freezes, wide eyed and shaking. However, her white-knuckled fists clench tight onto the falling fabric and throw it at the older man's face, blinding him long enough so she can make her escape over the wall at the end of the alley.

 

 _"Agneza!"_ He shouts.

 

_"[You have discraced us Agneza! Don't return home so long as you think your soul is to be with Malina!!]"_

 

 

As he curses his daughter, his voice steady weakens until becomes almost a faint whisper, a small ripple in the vast silence of the alley. After a moment the man stares down at the ruined fabric in his hands and begins to caress it with his fingers. His shoulders slowly begin to shake as he mumbles prayers to God.

 

 

"Agneza..."

 

 

For a brief moment you consider the girl's defiance admirable. You're almost envious of the way she felt so absolute, so sure that she had found the one. You continue to stare absently down the alley, mind drifting again as you yearn to have such resolve in loving one person. You think about the Avenger in the snow. How his sage green eyes looked at you when you talked, like he was lost. You wonder if he had found a soulmate, and if his soulmate was another woman, or could be another man.

 

  
_Is it even possible..._

  
_Maybe I-_

 

 

You immediately chastise yourself. When searching for love or soulmate, there is one line that can never be crossed in Sokovia. That is seeking such love in the same being as you. Here, homosexuality is sin.You know if your parents were still alive, they would probably scold you for such thoughts. You know better.

 

 

 

  
_Still..._

 

 

 

 

Before you can finish the thought, you sharply turn away from the alley and vehemently continue your path down the road.


	8. Marketplace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Well I know your game, you told him yesterday_  
>  _No chance, you'll get nothing from me_  
>  _But now she's there, your there, and everybody's there_  
>  _And he's in turmoil, as puzzled as can be_  
>  ([x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bHUb5v_UmK8))

 

 

The marketplace is vibrant and bustling center despite the cold. Street performers dance between the booths while shoppers call out sales. Children playing while their parents chatter. Vendors filling the entire market with sweet and savory smells of burek, baklava, and chestnuts. The laughter, the music, the smiles. It's the Sokovia that you remembered as a child, and are finally starting to see again. The country has far too long been plagued by chaos and corruption, with one faulty leader after another. Most notorious "the Mesar", a dictator who's stupid ego and brutality caught the eye of the West in the worst way possible. First came a flood of sanctions, which did nothing but hurt innocent people as simple essentials like bread and cheese tripled in price; the same people who had already been hit by severe winters which brought food shortages of beef and lamb. Meanwhile the Mesar would continue to boast of lavish parties with five course meals.

 

You remember being a kid and seeing massive protests being broadcasted on the television nearly every day. Your father always claimed that the protests would lead to a bright new future for the country, yet your mother never believed any good would come of it. Turns out your mother was right. The Mesar never hesitated to brutally suppress protests, having no shame in letting his guards open fire on the crowds. As his suppression worsened, protesters joined together to take up arms and start a full on rebellion. However he retaliated mercilessly, bombing everything from hospitals, to schools, to any building he suspected of housing "traitorous sinners to the Motherland". 

 

At first the rest of the world turned a blind-eye to the civil war that had erupted, not seeing it worth their time. It was only after the Mesar claimed Croatia's oil fields as the "rightful lands of Sokovia" and sent troops to the border did the West turn against him, pledging to support the rebels for the "innocent victims of Mesar's corrupt regime". In the end the Mesar fled to Russia, leaving the government to collapse. Now the United States has sent out their S.H.I.E.L.D peacekeeping forces, which do nothing but act like police until rebel leaders can stop fighting between each other. It’s been a decade and still there is no leader, no healthcare, no value in currency. Nothing but filthy S.H.I.E.L.D agents.

 

You don't want them here. Your sister doesn't want them here. Absolutely _no one_ in Sokovia wants them here. You've protested for years against them in this very same marketplace. You've chanted alongside your countrymen and joined them in throwing rocks at these invaders. They were never asked to be here and they have no right to stay. Yet, they continue to do as they please because your country is weak. It cannot bolster any strength; not yet at least.

 

It was in this marketplace among the angry crowds did you meet Dr. List, a German man who had moved to Sokovia many years ago. He had told you that he had fallen in love with the country, found his soulmate here, and had looked to build a life. However during the bombings of the Mesar he had lost his love in the same way you lost your parents. Now, he sought to work with an group called H.Y.D.R.A to give Sokovia the strength it needed to rid itself of S.H.I.E.L.D, and become its own country one and for all. One with great strength and promise. It was in this marketplace that he gave you and your sister a chance to become more than just protesters, but people who had _power_ to shape Sokovia into what it could be, and bring an end to that merchant of death Tony Stark.

 

Or that _was_ the plan. You clench your fist as you recall his face, wide-eyed and mouth ajar as he gazed up at the chitari remains in Strucker's lab. He was there, distracted, so _vulnerable_...With Wanda you could have put the "Iron Man" deep into the ground where he belonged, but no. Wanda looked into his mind and thought giving him death wasn't enough. Instead, _she_ decided (not you) that it would be better for him to be tortured by his fears until they become his own undoing. However, she failed to think how _long_ it would take for her plan to go through. Every day since then you have had to wait for your revenge. "Be still for now," she tells you, "In time Stark will get what he deserves."

 

 

Apparently she forgot patience is not exactly something you've been known to have.

 

 

You grunt as you weave your way through the endless crowd of busy shoppers, duffle bag in tow. Once you reach the outskirts of the marketplace you find your usual spot by the cement planter where the street lights are low, and you slug your duffle bag onto the edge of it. While you've been waiting for your sister's plan (again, not your plan) to take effect, you've decided to use your powers to help people in a more "Robin Hood" sort of way. You rummage through your bag to make sure you got everything as all your customers begin to crowd. You know them all well by now, as the few that employ your business tend to visit frequently. There's Dijana and Lazar, an elderly couple who you provide them with their arthritis medications (which is pretty easy to steal from the hospitals in the bordering nations). Then there's Drago and Milka. Drago typically pays you to smuggle in books, while Milka is a single mother of three and usually requests new clothes or blankets for her children. You sometimes surprise her with some nice jewelry she can keep or sell (up to her). Either way, she needs to take care of herself too.

 

Then you have the new "customers": Zrinka, a cute blonde who asked you to bring a new ball for her brother Kostel, and then you have Yussel. Once you glance over your shoulder and see all your customers have arrived, you quickly begin handing out the deliveries, keeping a careful eye out for S.H.I.E.L.D agents. First you give Dijana and Lazar their medicine, who bless you before scuttling away. Then Drago and Milka, who both thank you as you go ahead and give Yussel his prescription for him to examine.

 

 

"Those the right ones?" You question.

 

"Y-yeah..."

 

"The doctor will refill that. No more insurance Yussel, I made a house call."

 

He nods to you in thanks as you save the best for last. You snatch the ball from your duffle bag, tossing it playfully in the air before handing it to Zrinka.

 

"This for your brother..."

 

She thanks you quietly as you swiftly turn to pull out the surprise in your bag.

 

"And this...is _not_ for your brother."

 

You watch as Zrinka's eyes widen and you smirk. In your hands you dangle a glimmering rose colored fringe dress, fresh from a backstage rack at one of those fashion runway shows (the show had ended anyways, so you doubt they'll miss it). She blushes and a smile grows on her face as she hesitantly takes the dress, protesting weakly. You can't help but feel some pride whenever you succeed in charming a lady. Expensive and luxurious gifts, your amazing good-looks, certain "talents"; you have all the necessities to sweep a woman off her feet. For the more women you can charm, the faster you will find your soulmate. In a way everybody wins.

 

As you are about to take your flattery to the next step and ask her out, you are cut off by the smooth and eerily cold tone of an all too familiar voice.

 

" _Is every girl in Sokovia getting a dress from Paris?..._ "

 

Dark hair sways in the cold icy breeze, while the floating strands caress a pale face with looming green eyes, surrounded by _way_ too much eyeliner. A red shawl stands fiercely in contrast with the dark hair as it lingers gently in the breeze. She glides past slowly, and your eyes fixate on her, glaring intensely as you brace yourself for whatever sharp words are about to seep from between her thin lips.

 

"At least _Gertie's_ looked warm."

 

Zrinka gasps and your eyes widen, turning back to see that the once bashful woman now has her brow furrowed and looking just about ready to beat you senseless with that dress.

 

"She's kidding..."

 

Knowing no good will come in staying you immediately turn and march after Wanda, ready to both avoid any more confrontation with Zrinka and knock your sister in the head.

 

" _You're jealous you're not getting a dress_." You sneer once you catch up with her.

 

"You keep stealing you're going to get _shot_." She retorts and you scoff in response.

 

"I _mean_ it. At speed nothing can touch you but standing still-"

 

"Do you think I _want_ to be?"

 

You step in front of Wanda to get her full attention. It's bad enough that she probably ruined your chances with Zrinka. Now she thinks she can lecture you again about how you're wasting your time with your business. It's starting to get on your nerves.

 

"You said 'wait' and I'm waiting, _but I don't know for wha_ t. We had Stark, _helpless_ \- all these years and you-"

 

"KOSTEL!"

 

Suddenly, Zrinka dashes past you and Wanda, interrupting your conversation. You both watch as she rushes towards her little brother.

  
"Kostel! Kostel, where did you go!?"

 

"The Church..." The boy answers softly as he stares up at you and Wanda. You quirk an eyebrow.

 

"The man tell to me to for you to come to the Church..."

 

"What man?" Wanda interrogates.

 

"The Iron...Man."

 

 

You turn look towards Wanda and her eyes narrow, brow furrowed. Something about this is very unsettling to you, like wandering into a trap.  However as she glares up at you, you can already tell she has made up her mind.

 

 

"I am _not_ going to the church." You protest adamantly.

 

"Yes. _We_. Are." Wanda retorts, just as firm.

 

You narrow your eyes as you glare down at her, gesturing with your hands as you speak.

 

"Why do I have to go? This was not my plan. If it was _my_ plan Stark would have been dead days ago. _You_ should go! I have better things to do-"

 

"Oh and what _are_ those plans exactly?" Wanda begins to chide, "To go and sleep with another woman you know nothing about or care to because you think your soulmate is going to be like Cinderella Fairytale? What, is your condom the glass slipper??"

 

You frown and cringe your nose, "Ugh Wanda, stani-the last thing I want to do is discuss my sex life with you- _Ba!"_ You're cut off from speaking as Wanda suddenly smacks your arm while scolding you in Sokovian through gritted teeth.

 

" _[Idiot! Are you saying you're not wearing protection? I swear to God Pietro, the last thing I care to hear about is your bedroom experiences, but if I find out you're not wearing protection and you get someone pregnant-]"_

 

 _"Wanda stani!!_ " You bring your hands to you head and sharply look around, worried that someone might be overhearing what is probably the most embarrassing lecture she has yet to give you in a public place. A quick glance behind you and you notice Zrinka is still there and looking in your direction with an eyebrow quirked.

 

 

This could not be any worse.

 

 

" _[No I will not stop! Can you imagine what mother would say if she were still alive and saw you parading around with women every night like the whore of the village-]"_

 

 

You immediately grab Wanda by the arm, catching her by surprise, and begin to drag her out of the marketplace and away from the crowds as she protests.

 

 

"Ok Wanda, you win. We are going to the church and we are going now, Ok? Right now-here we go, to the church-let's go!"

 

 

As you move past Zrinka and Kostel you hear some snickering, and you feel your face heating up as your brow furrows. Soon enough Wanda shakes her arm out of your grasp and smacks your shoulder before recollecting herself.

 

 

"Whoever your soulmate is destined to be Pietro," she remarks, “I can only hope they are more mature than you."

 

 

You roll your eyes and sigh as you trudge towards the church alongside her, hands stuffed deep into your pockets. Your mind wanders back to the image of the avenger in the snow and you wonder if he too has a sister who bosses him around. Who is always in his business, but has the power to kick his ass. As you snicker at the thought, your mind lingers on his sage-colored eyes and pursed lips, and you recall the other questions you had asked yourself earlier today. 

 

"Pietro."

 

 

Your thoughts are interrupted, and you blink a few times before realizing that Wanda is actually a few feet ahead of you, waiting for you to catch up. 

 

 

"With the time you spend daydreaming about soulmates and women, we could be at the church by now."

 

 

"Yeah, whatever..." you grumble.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You should have saved the marketplace for another day.

 

 


End file.
